


Shatter

by ununpentium



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dark, Drug Use, M/M, Self Harm, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-31
Updated: 2011-10-31
Packaged: 2017-10-25 03:21:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/271176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ununpentium/pseuds/ununpentium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The end of Sherlock Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shatter

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the warnings.

I lay on the sofa with my face pressed into its back. I took shuddering breaths; my chest was heaving and my hands were clawing into the leather. I rolled onto my back and blinked at the sudden light that flooded my eyes. I let out a cry, before biting down onto my hand to stifle it. This was wrong, everything was wrong. I was broken and I couldn’t be fixed. I lay there tormented and haunted. Thoughts of John flickered across my mind; none of them substantial enough to hold onto. They were gone like wisps of smoke every time I tried to grasp them. My hands found my thighs and I raked my nails across my bare skin, the pain barely registering; not nearly severe enough to make its presence known in the utter turmoil that was my mind. My eyes were focusing, unfocusing; roaming over objects in the room. I didn’t recognise anything- not even my own face in the mirror. I was a stranger; Sherlock Holmes had gone somewhere he could never be pulled back from. John could not follow; John could _never_ follow. My hands found the cigar box. Inside lay a razor blade and a syringe. I plucked at the blade, cutting the tips of my fingers in an attempt to pick it up. My hands were trembling. I was crying. I could taste the salt in my mouth as the tears had made their way down my cheeks and gathered at the corners of my lips. I extended my left arm and brought my right to it. I had to leave John a message; pen and paper wasn’t good enough. I wanted to leave John carved into my skin, I wanted to carry him with me wherever I went even though he could not follow. My eyes had blurred with the pathetic, hot tears and my hand shook so much it was barely legible. _Believe me to be, my dear John, very sincerely yours_. I dropped the blade to the floor and grasped at the syringe. There was nothing else to be done, this was it. The end of Sherlock Holmes. I was not a hero, no. They don’t exist. I wasn’t even a good man. I managed to focus long enough to position the needle and depress the plunger. I would be dead within minutes. My head fell back onto the leather with a thud and the last thing I saw was John appearing at the door. In that instant he shattered; his mouth opened in a scream as the last thing I thought was _John, my John, if anyone could save me it would be you._

**Author's Note:**

> I feel somehow like I should apologise for this, but I won't. It needed to be written.


End file.
